When he awoke it was ten o'clock.
A shaft of sunshine from under the blind fell across his vast bed and he rubbed his eyes, sleepy, bewildered, wondering where on earth he could be? Then he remembered, felt for his watch, throwing back the heavy clothes, and caught his knees in the frail night-shirt. The batiste ripped as he slid to the floor.
The icy cold of the marble roused him, effectually banishing further sleep. He pattered across toward the light for the first glimpse of the world outside.
Here he was foiled at the start. For the deep windows were set high, the opening far above his head, dating from those warlike times when the solid walls were a shelter from missiles.
He dragged a heavy gilded chair underneath and mounting upon it, drew the faded curtains aside and peered fort
